


Carrefour

by tinyyy



Category: SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1708103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyyy/pseuds/tinyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s four and a half in the afternoon as Taemin barges into Minho’s life and leaves without further notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carrefour

**Author's Note:**

> written in 2012, also posted on [livejournal](http://quite-poetic.livejournal.com/5252.html)
> 
> not in chronological order

It’s four and a half in the afternoon as Minho waits for the bus under a shed, with his hands inside his pockets and a backpack full of books. He takes a peek at his wristwatch, thinking that it’s arriving quite late. The street is busy, high school students shuffling in a bee line, heading straight for their own after school activities.  
  
Someone passes by. Shoulders bumping, melodic humming, and no intention of apologizing – it made Minho’s blood boil.  
  
Honey brown hair with an angelic face and headphone covered ears; he leans back on the thin metal post of the bus stop sign. Unknown stranger catches the boy, whose uniform is identical to his, staring with distaste. He wants to laugh. “Lee Taemin.” He offers a hand.  
  
Minho gives him a perplexed stare, but takes his hand in his and shakes it anyway. Spontaneity definitely isn’t Minho’s cup of tea, so he gets tongue-tied over the current situation, words staying glued to the back of his throat.  
  
Taemin stifles his chuckle and coughs it out instead, releasing a whiff of his citrus scented breath. He brings the back of his hand close to his mouth as he chokes out on his own laughter; it’s almost as if he’s wheezing it out.  
  
Minho feels dumbfounded, and deeply ponders if this kid needs medical attention or just, attention. He tries to ignore him, eyes on the concrete and hands fumbling with the straps of his bag.  
  
The roaring of bus’s engine can be heard, and Minho checks. It’s still not his bus. There’s a squeak as it halts, and Minho feels a gaze glued to him as Taemin walks over to the vehicle with a distinct air of superiority emanating from him.  
  
As soon as he came in contact with the leather covered bus seat, his fingers find their way to the window. Taemin opens it wide enough for his head to pop out. A breeze greets his face as he screams “Nice to meet you, Choi Minho!”  
  
He leaves Minho puzzled.  
  
  
  
  
  
The television displays static under the dim light of the living room as two high school boys lean on the couch that’s puking its foam in tiny holes, the younger one clutches a bowl of ramen between his palms.  
  
“I’m done.” Taemin says after gulping down the soup and hands the bowl to Minho. The latter just takes it and places it aside.  
  
Minho clears his throat. “You’re gonna miss the last train at this hour.” He scratches the back of his head, eyes watching the blur on the screen.  
  
Taemin smirks. “Hey Minho,” he pauses for a while because he likes the way how the other’s name roll off his tongue. “I’ve got six months.” He glances at him, and then he stretches. “Isn’t that great?” with nonchalance, he hangs his arm on the older one’s shoulders and pierces him with a magnetic stare.  
  
Minho turns to look at him with disbelief and finds Taemin’s face closer than expected. He loses self-control, and leans in closer. He weaves his fingers through the boy’s honey brown strands that smell like cigarettes as he kisses his forehead. “Don’t fuck with me, you’re not going to die.” He says through his breath, gently pushing the boy’s head to rest on his chest.  
  
With a light shove, Taemin pulls away. “I’m gonna miss the last train.” He says, head bowing down with his fingers clutching the sleeve of the other boy, ready to break down into pieces but not quiet so.  
  
Minho wraps his arms around Taemin’s thin frame, holding him into place. He wants to tell him that everything will okay, and no one is leaving anyone behind. “Stay.” He pleads instead.  
  
  
  
  
  
Just as he was about to succumb to sleep, the phone on his bedside tables starts ringing loudly. Minho stirs and fumbles around to reach the noisy gadget. He takes hold of it, and answers at once.  
  
“Hello?” he manages to say through his sleepiness.  
  
“Open up.” The other line says through static, the stinging quietness of the night resounding through the phone call.  
  
“Excuse me? Who is this?” Minho sits up, and ruffles his disarrayed hair. He blinks, adjusting his eyes to the moonlit darkness. A yawn escapes his lips as he stretches.  
  
A chuckle is his reply that comes in a few seconds too late.  
  
Suddenly, there’s his rush that fills his every vein and kicks Minho awake. As he exhales, he climbs out of bed and drags himself out of his bedroom, still holding the phone to his ear all the while.  
  
“Lee Taemin.” Taemin answers through his phone as the door swings open.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“You.”  
  
A snort escapes from Minho’s mouth. He scrunches his eyebrows at him with a smile of disbelief. “Excuse me?” he thinks this kid is silly.  
  
Skinny arms are grabbing Minho by the neck and before he knows it, his lips are being devoured by the younger one’s own. He thinks this is silly (but he kisses back anyway, breathing in the scent of tangerines).  
  
  
  
  
  
The clouds are deep sky blue against an orange-pink horizon as Minho stares out the window of the bus to witness the peculiar sunrise. Someone sits down on the empty seat beside his, there’s a bump of the shoulder – a familiar one, like déjà vu – and Minho smells a whiff of smoke and something citrus. The stranger beside him coughs a chuckle and Minho could conclude that this stranger isn’t much of a stranger after all.  
  
“I hate you, Minho.” An open declaration slips out of his mouth. Taemin gives off a smirk against the lollipop he has inside his cheeks.  
  
Minho doesn’t know how some freshman student could hate him by just merely seeing him at school for about two weeks. He lets it pass. “Why?” he asks though.  
  
A toothy grin is given as a reply and Taemin shrugs his shoulders. “I just do.”  
  
It frustrates Minho. Craning his head towards the view through the window, he decides to ignore the snarky boy. As he gets lost in a daze, he feels a weight on his shoulder. He sighs after glancing over Taemin who has the ability to fall into sleep within minutes. It really frustrates Minho.  
  
  
  
  
  
Taemin’s slurping down his second bottle of banana milk as Minho scrunches his nose to the boy’s trademark tangerine scent. The air-conditioned convenience store is almost empty if not for the texting middle school girl seated on the chair beside Minho’s and the old man who can’t seem to decide whether a hotdog sandwich or a steamed bun would be better to buy.  
  
“Are there tangerines all over your entire house or something?” Minho asks, elbow resting on the surface of the countertop table, hand cupping his face.  
  
There are noisy slurps before Taemin places the plastic bottle down and proceeds to get his hands on the third one. “If I eat tangerines, I won’t puke it all out.” It slips out of his mouth, and he pauses for a second. He quickly shrugs it off before Minho could notice the slight glint of panic in his eyes and pokes the straw to his banana milk.  
  
Minho’s eyes won’t avert from scanning Taemin’s frame, and he doesn’t fail to notice the almost invisible bite marks on his knuckles. He realizes how fragile Taemin is.  
  
Taemin finishes another bottle of banana milk yet again, and stretches his arms, making incoherent noises. “I’ll probably puke all of this when I get home, but thanks for the treat anyway.” He flashes a lopsided smile as he pats Minho on the back.  
  
Something twists inside Minho’s chest.  
  
  
  
  
  
Minho runs through autumn-tinted streetlights, almost faded pedestrians, and dirt stained brick walls. There were unavoidable complaints and surprised faces as he pushes himself in between a crowd of people and turns around the corner hastily with his hand gripping the strap of his backpack tightly.  
  
Taemin sits on the railing, and swings his feet haphazardly. He has his headphones on and he hums along with the song, eyes scanning the constellations above him.  
  
Minho finds himself on the newly constructed concrete bridge and huffs for a supply of air. “Lee Taemin.” He mutters under his breath.  
  
He lowers down his headphones and lets it hang on his neck as he displays a twisted smile for the calm river below him to see. “Look, Minho! I see Capricorn!” he points at the said constellation on the night sky with Minho’s cellphone hanging by its strap on Taemin’s bony wrist.  
  
“Give it back.”  
  
“Why?” he says through a smile.  
  
“I said, give it back, Taemin.”  
  
Taemin grits his teeth together as he stands up, feet dangerously on the railing. “Hey Minho, who the hell is this girl who keeps on sending you texts?” he dangles out the phone haphazardly, pinching the strap between two fingers.  
  
With panic painted across his face, Minho hovers nearby the skinny boy who could face death with just a single slip of a foot. “Can you get down from there—“  
  
A hysterical laugh bursts out from Taemin’s mouth as he crouches; a fake smile that doesn’t reach his eyes plasters his lips. He stares straight into Minho’s soul after grabbing the brunette’s necktie. “Your inbox is loaded with her name.” He whispers, his gaze locks onto his round doe eyes. “She sends you a message. Every. Single. Day.” He says with venom through gritted teeth.  
  
Minho smirks.  
  
Taemin aims to punch him in the face with his free hand, the boy’s phone hanging on his wrist, as he grips the necktie tighter with the other.  
  
The clenched fist is blocked by Minho’s hand. “Why are you so worked up about this?”  
  
Their eyes never left each other’s own.  
  
Taemin gives him his infamous lopsided smile. “Because I’m a crazy bitch.” He releases his hand from Minho’s own and stands. Then he proceeds to kick the older boy in the gut, but his target is just too fast – and his vision is blurry, and there’s this light feeling coursing through his veins.  
  
Taemin tries to remember how much time he’s got left.  
  
  
  
  
  
“Why are you always alone?” Taemin asks before roughly pushing him down on the bed with unmasked urgency.  
  
“They’re in another country.” Minho answers before sucking and nibbling on the younger’s neck as his hands fumble upon the buttons of his polo – thinking that Taemin is purposely making it harder for him to remove the piece of clothing with every roll of the younger’s hips.  
  
As Taemin marks every part of Minho with his lips, claiming him as his own, Minho loses all his senses. Hearing the brunette’s shaky breaths makes Taemin’s underlying hunger to violate him rise to its full extent.  
  
Minho doesn’t question himself, and thinks that Taemin is nothing but beautiful. With his disheveled strands glowing with the lightest of brown, his pale skin radiating in all the perfect ways possible, his fluttering eyes, his splayed fingers on his stomach, his voice that calls out Minho’s name in faint whispers – everything about Taemin has never been so beautiful.  
  
Through tangled limbs, digging fingernails, and mixed sweat, a moan resounds through the dark room – neither of them knows whose it is anymore. There are pleads and incoherent noises at the back of their throats underneath unrestraint shivers, creating a peculiar harmony. Blazing eyes are locked with each other through the faint glow of the moonlight as they familiarize with a steady rhythm, and Taemin’s seeing white flashes through his vision as he breathes unevenly.  
  
Taemin bites on Minho’s earlobe. “I never really hated you.” He manages to say through loud pants, followed by a gasp as he clutches on to Minho.  
  
“I know.” Minho responses after a heavy sigh, he pulls him closer, running his finger through honey brown strands.  
  
Taemin leans back to take in the exquisite sight, cups Minho’s face in his thin hands and lets out a groan through Minho’s lips.  
  
  
  
  
  
There are muffled sounds of heavy breathing as the loud running water halts to a stop. A few droplets fall from the mouth of the faucet, and Minho stands inside the tiled room – hands dripping with water, listening cautiously.  
  
A sharp inhale comes before a series of coughs, then a flush of a toilet.  
  
Minho twists back the knob of the faucet and eyes the reflection on the mirror as cold water runs down his hands.  
  
The sound of a bathroom stall unlocking comes next, and a lanky boy with honey brown hair staggers out, wiping his lips with the sleeve of his blazer. He goes over to the sink, splashing water on his face and shaking it off.  
  
Minho dries his hands and leaves. Once he’s at the doorway, he glances back, only to meet the boy’s eyes gazing back at him.  
  
  
  
  
  
The afternoon breeze greets Minho as soon as he steps out of the convenience store, his hand carries a plastic bag with a pack of gummy worms and a bottle of banana milk inside.  
  
There’s a slam against the brick wall adjacent to the convenience store, then a kick that sends a delinquent flying across the street.  
  
Minho figures that walking away from this ruckus is the smartest thing to do at this moment. He makes his way through dyed hair, huff of breaths, and wrinkled school uniforms, but suddenly, there’s this throaty chuckle that he knows too well. He finds his feet stopping, his mind shooting alert signals, and his heart racing faster as he takes sight of the all too familiar ivory skin and messy honey brown hair.  
  
“Fags.” Taemin mutters, before receiving a punch on his face. He spits out blood, and it sends the tall bystander rushing over in a composed manner.  
  
“What the hell is this mess?” he asks coolly, eyeing the group of high school students who don’t seem to look like they are in high school at all.  
  
Snickers surround them as the tallest of the gang grabs at Minho’s collar. “Don’t butt in unless you want us to break that nice face of yours.” He warns in a husky voice with a provoking stare.  
  
Minho stays silent, his eyes flaming, restraining himself from punching the guy straight to oblivion.  
  
“Fuck off.” Taemin yells as he kicks the tall boy off of Minho.  
  
It gets complicated as everyone else in the group gangs up on the younger boy against the brick wall.  
  
“Hey, you troublesome high schoolers. What school are you from?” some employee from the convenience store barges out the glass door, a rolled newspaper in hand.  
  
“Tsk, pisses me off.” One of the delinquents mutters before giving Taemin a final kick and leaving, the rest following behind him.  
  
“I’m talking to you bastards, answer me.” The middle-aged dude in green uniform chases off the group, the rolled newspaper lifted in the air.  
  
Minho takes hold of the skinny boy’s wrist, and tugs at it. “Come on.”  
  
“Why did you bother,” Taemin coughs. He inhales sharply and combs back his bangs, his gaze trying to pierce through the older one’s soul. “I don’t get you, Choi Minho.” He manages to laugh through a bleeding lip.  
  
Taemin gets an eye roll in reply, and gets tugged roughly by Minho.  
  
  
  
  
  
Minho stares out the window as Taemin’s head rests on his shoulder, the younger boy’s face painted with a calm and peaceful mask that’s rare to see. The vehicle sharply turns around the corner, and Minho decides that it’s time to wake the up the sleeping boy next to him.  
  
“Hey, Minho,” Taemin speaks with half-lidded eyes, hands landing on top of Minho’s thoughtlessly.  
  
Surprised, Minho blinks, waiting for what he has to say. The boy usually speaks non-sense and irrelevant things in the early morning.  
  
“What am I to you?”  
  
Minho just laces his fingers with Taemin’s, suddenly feeling a heavy weight on his heart.  
  
  
  
  
  
A hint of dark blue is spilling across the sky as Minho walks under dimly lit streetlights on his way to the bus stop. The air is bitingly cold today and Minho tugs at his scarf, covering half of his face. He freezes up completely for a millisecond as his eyes land on the slim, lanky figure that’s leaning by the post of the bus stop.  
  
Taemin catches his gaze just in time to give him an intimidating stare through hooded eyelids.  
  
Minho doesn’t even flinch, and lets a smirk play on his lips. “Were you waiting for me?” he teases.  
  
The lamp post flickers for a while as Taemin coughs out a laugh. “You’re gonna have to wait fifteen minutes for your bus.” He informs Minho, one hand searching for something inside his pocket.  
  
Minho waits.  
  
An orange lollipop is retrieved from Taemin’s pocket and is unwrapped; he litters the crumpled piece of plastic. “Hey, Minho,” he calls out before popping the treat inside his mouth. “Let’s walk home.”  
  
There’s something that makes Minho’s lips curve into a small smile as he passes by Taemin, and craning his head to ask the younger boy. “Are you walking with me or not?”  
  
Taemin coughs his laugh and catches up with Minho, linking their arms together so persistently, and annoyingly, that Minho just had to give up shaking him off.  
  
  
  
  
  
As the raindrops hit the pavement rather heavily, a skinny boy puffs gray air out of his plump lips while staring out of the opened window, observing the gloomy horizon, the Choi’s metal gate, and the busy streets below.  
  
“That,” Minho surprises him as he slides next to Taemin on the humongous windowsill, eyes pointedly looking at the cancer stick between the younger boy’s thin, long fingers. “is going to be the death of you.”  
  
Taemin replies with a blank stare, one that speaks for himself and shouts “I don’t give a fuck” straight at Minho. He inhales from his cigarette and releases his contribution to air pollution.  
  
“I’m not gonna die because of smoking.” Taemin mutters, one bare foot playing with Minho’s own. “I’m smoking because I’m gonna die.” He states, and swipes his tongue under his lower lip.  
  
Minho scoffs, and stares out the window.  
  
“Hey, do you have tangerines?”  
  
“No, I hate them.”  
  
  
  
  
  
“I think I broke my left hand.” Taemin says, hugging a pillow as a cotton bud with Betadine pats the small wound on his left cheek.  
  
Minho looks at him, then at the said hand, then back at him. “I don’t know anything about broken bones.” He admits, doe eyes a little bit bigger than it usually is and face painted with worry masked in innocence.  
  
Taemin fights off a chuckle, but fails dramatically. He laughs heartily as he points a finger at his senior.  
  
“What?” he asks with scrunched eyebrows, completely puzzled.  
  
With a shake of his head, Taemin stops the urge of pinching Minho’s cheeks. “Nothing.” He gives a genuine smile.  
  
Minho smiles back, even if the bite marks on Taemin’s knuckles makes him feel quite bothered and worried.  
  
  
  
  
  
He releases a huff of breath, before inhaling. “Lee Taemin, will you go back to your senses and get down here.” Minho yells the command. “Don’t go killing yourself and let me do the honor, you bastard.” He shouts, but he doesn’t bother to come in contact with him and drag him down.  
  
Taemin curses under his breath.  
  
Minho feels something hard hit his head and hears something shattering into pieces by his feet. “Hey, what the actual hell? What is your fucking problem?” he retorts as he kicks the broken phone on the ground.  
  
A helicopter passes by the night sky as Taemin gives him a peace sign and pursed lips after climbing down the railing. His feet are walking rather clumsily as his hand messes up the mop of honey brown on his head.  
  
There was an incoherent shout, and Minho sighs heavily. “I came here for nothing after all.” He gives the messed up kid a glare.  
  
With a soft smile playing on Taemin’s lips, his hands find their way to cling onto the taller guy’s coat.  
  
They almost stumble together because of Taemin’s staggering feet.  
  
“What are you doing?” Minho asks with perplexity when the younger boy’s head rests on his chest. “Didn’t I tell you not to die yet?”  
  
Taemin breathes out in uneven patterns. “Hey, take me with you.” He says through a smile. Suddenly, Taemin feels like Minho is his last hope – as his vision keeps on flickering into nothingness.  
“Hey, I didn’t know you were this weak. Are you even listening? Hey, hey shithead, don’t doze off here.”  
  
“Shut up.” Taemin murmurs, his grip tightens, crumpling the fabric of the coat.  
  
Minho scrunches his eyebrows together when he fails to decipher what frail boy said. “What?”  
  
Taemin shuts him up with a kiss.  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s four and a half in the afternoon as Minho stands under an umbrella to shield him from the pelting raindrops. It’s been three months, school will start again in a week and he just felt like visiting.  
  
He kneels down, places a bouquet of white lilies on the patch of grass in front of the block of gray marble, with the words Lee Taemin embedded on the surface.  
  
Minho smirks and prevents himself from breaking down into pieces all over again. He believes that he’s past that part of mourning.  
  
“You were probably everything to me.” He finally lets out the unspoken answer he kept buried inside his heart for so long.  
  
Minho closes his umbrella and lets the moisture inside his eyes fall along with the raindrops.


End file.
